


Now Abel became a shepherd of a flock

by Jayne L (JayneL)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mark of Cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1461136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayneL/pseuds/Jayne%20L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know what he's done the moment you see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now Abel became a shepherd of a flock

You know what he's done the moment you see him.

He raises his chin at you, crooks an eyebrow as if about to usher you into a conspiracy. Rolls up his sleeve to reveal the stain you can smell on his soul, dark and vile on his skin. "Real deal, Cas. From the man himself." His words are boastful, the expected bravado. His tone is flat, and his eyes are dull. "Looks good on me, don't it."

You meet his gaze in silence until he looks away.

* * *

He bites at your mouth, pulls at your hair, rakes his nails down your back like he wants to claw his way inside. He shoves you up against the wall. He shoves his hips against yours. He shoves his hand under your chin and tightens it around your throat.

He's been tender with you before, been playful and easy. You let him be rough with you now. You measure carefully how rough you are in return.

He tears himself away from you to yank off his overshirt; your breath comes ragged when he releases your throat. In his t-shirt, he pushes up to you again, scrapes his hands into your hair, then stops with his mouth parted and panting an inch from yours when you close your hand around his wrist. When you start sliding your hand up the bare skin of his arm, he shivers.

You expect it to burn. He does, too: he's gone still, turned his head to watch the deliberate path your hand is taking. His eyes are steady, avid. He is anticipating pain.

Your fingertips smooth over the brand under his elbow and there is nothing. No cleansing fire, no acid heat.

He closes his eyes; shakes his head. Pushes you unforgivingly against the wall and pushes in to kiss you. Bites at your mouth.

You grip his forearm, skin to skin, and there is nothing.

* * *

You give him no bruises, no scratches, no aches. You don't rise to his insults. When it comes, you meet his deadly violence with immovable passivity.

He can't hurt you. Your unquiet grace still protects you that much.

His knuckles are swollen and bloody. His blood is smeared on your face and spattered on your clothes. You have yet to lift your hands even once. "What happened to the wrath of Heaven?" he snarls, full of scorn and provocation.

The bitter answer comes to you readily: Heaven has fallen. Its wrath is no longer equal to opposing this corruption. It has been corrupted itself.

But Dean is furious and afraid and ashamed, and buried within his demand is something plaintive and longing.

You raise your hand. Beneath the cold rage that isn't truly his, relief sparks in his eyes, desperately genuine. He flinches eagerly toward you, drawing back his fist for another vicious blow.

You catch it easily before it lands. You hold it gently.

You tell him, "Mercy is of Heaven, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Genesis 4:2.


End file.
